


Survivor's Guilt

by nevertrustakobold



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertrustakobold/pseuds/nevertrustakobold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ghosts of the past rear their heads in the middle of Jaffa-Factory construction</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor's Guilt

       “What are we doing here, friend?” Xephos hadn't meant to speak that thought out loud, but it had been on his mind for a long time, slowly growing and stretching its wings, ugly and insidious, and with his concentration entirely on the repair he was doing to a warped solar panel, it had slipped out before he could stop it.

       Honeydew gave him a worried look.

       “What d’you mean, what are we doing? We’re making jaffas. Well. We’re getting there. We've almost got it though, I can feel it. Come on, you know this.” There was uncertainty in his face, and Xephos realized that, in retrospect, he hadn't picked the best phrasing for his question, given his history - or lack thereof - with the ephemeral nature of memory.

       “Alright, I’m sorry, wrong question. I know  _what_ we’re doing, I guess what I mean is… why? Why are we doing this? How did we even end up here? I mean, jaffas? Really? Is this really what we’re left with?”

       “I’m not sure I’m following you… What d’you mean? What’s wrong with jaffas?” Honeydew shifted behind him, and Xephos could see him in his mind’s eye: back against the wall, facing him, arms crossed and head cocked ever so slightly to one side, brows furrowed over deep set hazel eyes as he tried to puzzle through Xephos’s own complete inability to articulate his thoughts. His stare was burning into the back of Xephos’s head, but he didn’t turn around. It was easier to talk, that way, when he couldn’t see his face. And this way Honeydew wouldn’t see whatever expression was on his own face. However hard he tried, his face always betrayed whatever he was thinking - to Honeydew, at least - and he didn’t trust what he might read there now. Staying where he was simpler, for both of them, so he kept his back to his friend, twisting frayed wire into place and replacing the unsalvageable ones, wrestling with stubborn bolts, and generally doing everything that gave him an excuse not to meet his friend’s at times inconveniently-perceptive gaze.

       “It’s just that… Everything we did. Everything we saw. The world burned, and choked under the sand, and we went out there, and we fought it, and we  _won_. Somehow.” He sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face and massaging eyes that hadn’t felt fully rested in years.

       “Some of us did, anyways. Do you know, I can’t remember Peculier’s face anymore? Everything we’d been through, and I’m forgetting him. All of them. Spacker. Rory. Granny. Fumblemore. Swampy. Adaephon. Lysander.  _Isabel_. How many people died because of us? How many could we have saved? We led them to their deaths, and there are some days I think they’re the lucky ones. It’s over, for them, for better or for worse. They’ve done their part, they saved the world, they left it all behind them, and meanwhile we’re stuck,  _here_ , trying to live with all this. Trying to pretend that we didn’t lose everything in that fight - more than everything - trying to pretend that there’s still anything  _left_ , after it all. We tore ourselves apart, or I know I did, and I  _know_ there’s pieces that aren’t coming back. And what did come back is worse, stitched back together at random like the world’s patchiest, shittiest quilt; scarred and ugly and raw.” He took a deep breath that couldn’t seem to fill the emptiness in his lungs, and tried and failed to find some semblance of calm to inject into his voice.

       “I said I’m forgetting them, and I am, but just take a guess: who do I dream about, every night? Night after night, always, it’s them. All of them. Their faces, their smiles, the hope in their eyes when they looked to us for help, and the way that hope died as they lay there, all of them dying and broken, in our stead. And he’s there, every time, watching it all with those awful red eyes of his, and smiling, in that terrible way that he had, and just  _laughing_ , at it all, so I wonder, was it worth it?  _Did_ we even win? Who’s left, now? Jasper? Nubescu? Daisy?  _She_ died within  _weeks_ , and I’ll never know if she even knew what was happening around her, she was so far gone by the time we got her out of that cell. Jasper was paralyzed when his ship fell, and terribly burned besides; he wants nothing to do with anyone, anymore, and I don’t know how much longer he has left. Nubescu was the only one to make it out of this unharmed, and that’s only because her spirits protected her, Notch alone knows what that cost her. Who else is there? Father Braeburn’s drinking his way through whatever’s left of Icaria, after his relic and church disappeared. We’re all that’s left, and here we are, building a bloody  _cookie_ factory. What right do we have? What _right_? To be alive, when they’re all dead? To survive, to keep going, when most of them weren't even given a proper  _grave_? We weren't the best fighters and somehow we’re the only ones left. We definitely weren't the best people; all of them, to the one, believed in what we were doing more than we did. This was their fight, long before it was ever ours. It was all there, set up, just waiting for a catalyst, long before we came along. We did it for them, because they needed someone, and had the misfortune to get us, and now they’re all dead, and we’re not! They’re all DEAD! And it’s our fault, and- and- oh  _god_!” He stopped, gulping deep breaths of air chilled by the night that had fallen without his noticing it. His throat felt swollen from all the words he’d said, and all the ones he hadn’t, and there was a sob building in his chest, pressing outwards against his lungs and burning like a mouthful of acid in his throat, threatening to burst out and shatter what little control he had left. 

       “I don’t know what to do.” The whispered confession disappeared into the dully-gleaming surface in front of him as Xephos pushed his forehead against the panel, hearing his voice break over the last word and helpless to stop it.

       “I don’t know what to do!” He roared it out, screaming it into the night, and it helped, just a little, to bellow it out at the top of his lungs, so he tried it again, as he spun around and faced Honeydew at last; beyond caring, at this point, what the other might read on his face in the faint moonlight that filtered down through thin, high clouds. “I don’t know what to DO! It was hell, back there, hell and worse, but  _this_ is like purgatory, and I’d still rather be back there, fighting for our lives, hopeless but so alive, than here and now, alone and waiting! Always, _always_  just waiting for the next disaster. Nothing feels real anymore, nothing feels safe! I adapted to the battle, and I was good at it, but now I’m stuck back there, and it may have saved my life once upon a time, but now it’s ruining it! Lalna came up behind me the other day, and I had him against the wall with my sword to his throat before I even realized he was there! And I’d still rather go back there, to the thing that made me like this, than be here. It was the worst thing I've ever been through, but at least it  _meant_ something! We had something to live for, a cause to champion, and if we had to die for it, we would have done so gladly because we knew it meant our friends would survive and carry on the battle. But instead it was them - _they_ died, and for  _this_! Look at me! Xephos, Hero of Minecraftia.” He spat the words, tasting them bitter and taunting on his tongue, and gave a bark of caustic laughter.

       “A fucking hero, as if that isn't the biggest bloody joke of this entire goddamn mess. Heroes don’t fall apart. They don’t break, they don’t doubt, they don’t get their friends killed, and they  _know what they’re doing!_ ” And then he was laughing, great heaving gasps of helpless laughter that he couldn’t control, and that terrified even him, as the tears that had been threatening to spill left their wet trail down his cheeks, and the manic laughter grew more and more ragged.

       “They called us heroes! Any one of them could have done it better, and they chose us! Us! Under-prepared, under-equipped, under-informed, and always,  _always_ too late!” The spasming laughter passed as quickly as it had arrived, leaving Xephos with the realisation that if anyone were to see him now - anyone but Honeydew -  they’d probably think he was mad. Shouting at nothing, up on the roof where the wind grabbed and snatched at his every word, curling around them and carrying them away; they’d probably be right. With an exhausted sigh, he gave up on standing and dropped gracelessly to the floor, back against the marble ledge behind him, head pillowed limply on arms laid across raised knees. He heard Honeydew walk slowly over and drop down beside him, solid by his side like he’d been from the very start, a constant in a world that had been so unfamiliar, an anchor when life had seemed to upend itself on an hourly basis. For a while neither of them spoke. Xephos concentrated on getting his breathing under control, counting his breaths - slowly, slowly - as they sat side by side, feeling the cold seep in from the marble against their backs, and the warmth distributing itself between them through the link of their touching arms, watching the shadows make their way across the roof as the moon traced its ancient path across the sky. Eventually, Honeydew spoke.

               “I don’t know how much help I can be here. I’m not much for words, and I’m not the brightest dwarf, you know me. Notch knows any decent friend would have noticed you weren't all right a _long_ time ago. But I’m still here, and I’m here for _you_ , always. Whatever I did to make you think you’re alone, I’m sorry; I thought you knew I’d never leave  you alone, friend. I was there with you through it all, and I walked every single step with you by your side; d’you really think I’ll leave you on your own now?

       “You think you’re not a hero. Maybe you’re right, but that doesn't devalue what you've accomplished. D’you think I could have done this alone? We would have failed without you, and that’s the truth of it.

       “You say you’re not sure whether it was worth it; fair enough. But heroics and quests aside, I know you saved my life more times than I can count, and theirs too, even if you couldn’t do it forever. Even before the war, before we met any of them, you were saving my life, from the very first day we met. That’s got to count for something. And, heroics and quests aside, the war was no different from then: just two idiots, blundering along and messing up, sometimes, but coming out alright in the end. So I’ll tell you what you should do: just keep doing that. Just like we used to, one step at a time. We never did it any other way, and when did we ever worry about the future? We went wherever things were happening, and then later we went to _make_ things happen and yeah, there might be less happening now, but that’s a blessing. So, the world’s moving on. So what? Let it. We fought for peace, we risked our lives so that others could live theirs in safety, and we succeeded. We did this so that innocent people wouldn't have to go through the hell we went through on a daily basis, just to stay alive. So that the children could grow up and never have to know the fear that the sands carried like a plague. Never have to see the wave of it bearing down on them and know, with absolute certainty, that this is it. We achieved that.

       “People forget, they bury things in their memories, because that’s the only way to cope, with some things. They’ll forget _us_ , eventually. They’ll see the statues, and they won’t know what they mean. They’ll see the names, and they won’t mean anything to them, and that’s when we’ll have won for real. When the terror’s so far gone that even the memories have disappeared, that’s when the battle truly ends. They’ll forget us, but we never did any of this for the glory, or the fame. We did it because our friends needed us to, and because they asked. Maybe you’re right, and anyone could have done what we did, maybe we  _were_ simply in the right place at the right time - or the wrong ones, I guess - maybe that’s all true. But it  _was_ us. And at the end of the day we were all there was. Do you really think they went into it blind? That they didn't know the shape of it? They knew.  They knew the odds, because they made them. They _were_ the odds. It was their friends and their families and their loved ones, and they all lived those odds, every single day. Like you said, it was their fight first. We led them, true, and believe me when I say that that weight sits just as heavily on me, but we _never_ led them blind. If anything, they knew more than we did.”

            “But they  _didn't_! That’s the point! They thought we were someone powerful, someone great and brave and wise, someone who could save them and lead them to victory, and all we did was get them killed! They saw heroes in us that  _weren't there_!” Xephos’s hand came up, unbidden, to clutch spasmodically at his hair, pulling until his scalp sparked and danced with tension-induced pain, but it didn't help.

             Honeydew sighed softly and reached out, with a gentleness that always surprised Xephos, even after all this time, to uncurled his fingers, loosening the death grip they’d adopted on his hair. His hands, coarsened and calloused from a lifetime of gripping tight to the handles of shovels and pickaxes - and, once upon a time, a massive battleaxe nearly twice his size - were shockingly warm, and Xephos realized just how cold he truly was. He shivered, and Honeydew wrapped his hands more tightly in his own, massaging them carefully as he spoke.

        “Maybe they did, and maybe they didn't, I don’t know about that, but I _do_ know that they never asked for more than we could give, and _never_ for anything they weren't prepared to do themselves. I lost them too, and it never gets easier, knowing they’re gone. I was there with you when Isabel’s ship went down; I had to watch Peculier plummet off the track, same as you did. I saw it all, and I can _still_ see it; don’t even have to try. Swampy, runnin’ back to save his burning forest. Fumblemore, trapping himself too close to his own spell. Lysander’s ship getting swallowed by the sand. _Granny_! D’you think I don’t miss _her_? Miss _them_? I miss them all, and others besides, from Stoneholm and Khaz Modan and all the other holds, but they’re _gone_ , Xeph. They’re gone, and I don’t miss them so much that I’m keen on following them.

                     "You know what makes it bearable? What keeps me going? The only thing, some days, but it’s enough. You know what it is? It’s the factory! Why d'you think I started the bloody thing? It wasn't to piss around with milk buckets, that’s for bloody sure. I needed something to do, and this was it. Granted, we’re not laying down our lives for the greater good - though jaffas are a pretty great good, if you ask me - but that doesn't make it useless. Frankly, I've had enough of heroic sacrifice, and this makes me happy, or happi _er_ , at any rate,  _and_ we’re being useful. I know I would have killed to have even one jaffa, back there in the nether; now I can make my own, as many as I want. It’s what I’m living for, and when we’re done with it, or bored of it, we can move on to something else. That’s life. You need something to live for? Look around. Anything will do. Better yet, live for yourself. We might not have won, not yet, not properly, but _He_ lost, and no two ways about it. Show him he hasn’t beaten you. I lost too many people to that pale bastard to let him take you too. I need my friend, and I’m not losing you to him, this far down the line. We’re gonna build this factory and we’re gonna be successful, and it’s gonna be the best bloody factory this world’s ever seen. So come on, friend, what do you say? Don’t make me do this alone. For the love of god,  _please_ , don’t make me do this without you.” The sudden desperation in his voice broke Xephos’s heart, and the catch in his voice truly brought home just how much he cared. He realised, again, just how much he loved his friend. How could he possibly deserve him? How perfect must he have had to be, in that past life he couldn’t remember, to have deserved someone so kind in his life now? And how on earth had he kept him, when by all rights he himself was such an atrocious friend in return? Never anything but snappish and impatient, while Honeydew had been so patient with him from the beginning. He took him for granted, most days, as if he weren't the most precious thing in his life, and the most dear. He truly didn't deserve him, and that hurt to think about. He didn't deserve anyone, just now, but he’d never deserved someone like Honeydew, who was just so good, while he was all shattered pieces and broken promises, held together - just barely - in a skin of threadbare lies and failing truths. If Honeydew weren't so vehement about his reliance on him, he wasn't sure what he-

                 “Xeph? Buddy?” Xephos started as Honeydew’s face was suddenly inches from his own. “You’re scaring me. Don’t disappear on me. I meant what I said, about needing my friend. If you want to take a break from the factory, I won’t mind; we can go somewhere else, if you want. Kill some monsters, find some treasure, whatever you want. I’m sure Lalna can manage on his own for a while.” He frowned as Xephos remained silent. “Unless you’d rather I stay? I’d sleep better, knowin’ you had someone watching your back, but if you don’t want me to come, I could -”

                   “It’s fine, friend. I’m fine. Will be fine. Probably. Just- don’t worry about it. I’ll be alright. Besides, I don’t want to slow down production.” He managed a tired smile, feeling the strain of keeping it looking genuine, praying that just this once, Honeydew wouldn't see through him. 

                      He didn't, but neither did he look convinced. “Alright, first of all? We’re not even producing right now. And second of all, do you really think I care about production more than I care about the fact that you are losing yourself inside your own head? Give me a  _bit_ more credit than that, come on. The factory doesn't mean anything if you’re not there to build it with me. I know you don’t believe you’re good enough for anything; you've had that problem since we met, and and it’s only gotten worse since, but I've told you before, and I’ll say it again: you are worth everything.  _Everything_ , you hear me? You’re brilliant, you’re clever, you’re brave, and you’re the best man I know. You took a chance on me once, back when it was just you and that shiny wreck getting snowed on in the woods, and I was just a stranger with a pickaxe, and you decided to trust me and come with me, instead of wandering away into the woods to freeze to death. You didn’t know me, you had no reason to trust me, but you did it anyways. All I’m asking is for you to do that again. Just take a  chance on me, like you did then. Let me help you."

                      Xephos withdrew his hands from Honeydew’s, burying his face in in them in frustration. “I don’t know if you can, friend.  _I_  don’t even know what’s wrong; how are you going to fix it?”  Honeydew was silent for a long moment, and Xephos was beginning to wonder if he’d heard him when his friend spoke again, laying a hand tentatively on his shoulder.

                  “I never said I’d fix it. You’re right, I can’t do that; that’s up to you, if you think there  _is_ something to fix. What I said was, I’d help you. I’ll keep you on your feet while you figure yourself out, listen to anything you need to get off your chest. I mean, look at you. How long have you been carrying all that around without saying anything? It’s eating you up, and you’re letting it, ‘cause you’re afraid of being a bother, and I just- I worry about you. I know you don’t like me to, but Notch knows, _one_ of us has to, and its not like you ever take the time to.” He sighed heavily, and suddenly he looked older, and very tired. “Look. I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life, or demand that you take better care of yourself, much as I’d like to. It isn’t my place to say either of those things, and I’m not a fitting person to advocate them even if it were. All I ask -  _all_ I ask - is that you  _talk_ to me about this stuff, Xeph! Don’t carry it alone. There’s no  _need_ for all of this "suffer in silence" bullshit. I was there, I  _understand_. Not everything, maybe, not perfectly, but enough to help you. The time for martyrs is over. And just because I know you, and I know you’ll be torture yourself debating whether or not to say something, know that I  _want_ to know, ok? Every time. I don’t care if you think it’s dumb, I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night, I don’t care if you think it’s a bad time, just  _tell_ me. I can’t help you if you won’t even let me into your head. So just promise me, will you? Promise me that you’ll come to me. Promise me and  _mean_ it. Please.”

                         “I don’t know… I don’t know if I _can_ promise that. I don’t- I’ll try. Is that enough? I promise I’ll do my best. It’s just so _hard_ , sometimes, especially after all this time. Most people would be over it by now, and I just can’t let it go. But I will try, friend. I promise.” It helped, in some tiny, indescribable way, to say those words. Some pressure inside him loosened, just a little, and when he tried another smile, it  felt marginally more genuine, even if it was still a little watery, and a lot shaky. He reached up and squeezed Honeydew’s fingers, just lightly, trying to convey through the gesture all the muddled thoughts and feelings, mixing and boiling somewhere near his heart and around his lungs, pushing up and out until his pulse pounded in his ears and he could barely breathe: all the gratitude and the affection he owed Honeydew, all the frustration and the helplessness and the ache of  loss, still sharp even after all this time. He felt Honeydew’s hands tighten, just for a moment, around his own, and knew hat he understood.

                     “Of course it’s enough, friend. I just want you to be ok, which means that I need to know when you’re _not_ ok. That’s all I need. Now,” He straightened up from the slouch he’d adopted against the wall. “are we staying up here all night, or do you want to go downstairs and maybe warm up a little? I’m gonna make you tea, I think, and I am going to watch until you drink all of it, understood? And eat something too, while you’re at it; I can’t even remember the last time I saw you eat anything. Then I’m putting you to bed. No staying up ‘til ass o’clock in the morning tinkering. You are going to get a real night’s sleep, even if I have to sit on you to make it happen. If the dreams come back, tell me, and I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll ask Lalna to-” Three consecutive sneezes interrupted him, sending him grabbing at the wall for support, and it was a very grumpy Honeydew who stood back upright. “God damnit! Why are roofs always so bloody cold! Who decided that?  They are getting a good prodding with the encouragement stick when we get down from here.”

               “That’s what you get for -  whoa - not wearing a shirt.” Xephos staggered upright, wincing as pins and needles swept down his cramped legs, and he teetered for a moment, fighting for his balance on frozen, half-asleep legs. “I don’t care what you say, ‘dwarven chest-hair’ is not a replacement for actual clothing.”

                   “Oi, none of that, or it’s you I’ll be prodding. Now pass me a torch, would you? I can’t find the stupid ladder.” It took Xephos a moment, but he found one, lighting it with the ease born from years of practice, and passed it over, reveling in the warm glow of the tiny flame. When had they stopped using torches? Glowstone was more professional, true, but it lacked the torches’ warmth. The flickering light had once been synonymous with safety, security. Welcoming after a long day of mining or hunting, a beacon towards home, back when they’d had one. Staring at the light, bobbing erratically in Honeydew’s hand as he started down the ladder, Xephos saw all the other lights, long gone now, extinguished or forgotten. A long chain of them, stretching back to the very beginning; a chain that spanned the entire land, transcending worlds and linking together pieces of a history that at its crescendo had moved hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives like so many chess pieces, and that itself now burned, dimmer by the day, within the so very few that had so far managed to avoid following it to its natural conclusion. All the way back he traced the line, further and further, until he came to the first link, so long ago now. What was it Honeydew had said, back when he'd first shown him how to make them? "Torches light up the dark." That first torch had been planted in a cave that hadn't even been named yet, marking a future that  had felt limitless and free, possibilities spiralling away into infinity; they’d owed nothing to anybody then, except themselves. He missed that, he realized. The freedom, the lightheartedness. He missed that place. Someday, he decided, maybe even someday soon, he would go back there. Take Honeydew with him, and walk it all again, from the beginning. Lay the past to rest; pacify the ghosts, say his goodbyes, and maybe even gain the closure he’d been lacking, all this time. Swinging himself down on the ladder, he promised himself that whatever happened, he would stand in the Yogcave again, with Honeydew by his side. It was where everything had started, after all; it was only fair that if they were starting something new, it should be from there. And maybe this time, no one would die. He could hope.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time uploading anything to AO3, so please let me know if I've done something wrong. Similarly, this was also my first foray into writing for fandom, so any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.


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